Safekeeping
by Vampire-Angel-Z
Summary: A battle-hardened Oliver Queen takes an underage Roy Harper under his wing in prison. Oliver/Roy. pre-slash. Strong Language.
1. Chapter 1

"I will get you out of here."

Roy likes his lawyer. She's a smart lady, perhaps what his mother would have been if she didn't have more heroin in her blood than blood.

"Thanks… for everything." Roy doesn't care if he sounds sincere or not. He just knows that he _is_. This woman has fought harder for him than anyone in his entire life. That alone makes her his hero.

Laurel her name is, there are tears in her eyes, and Roy has never done well with crying women, so he awkwardly watches as she breaks down in front of him, mascara running and all. "It's gonna be okay." He tells her, which is silly, because she isn't the one who was tried as an adult. She isn't the one going to a prison with the worse inmate population in the states.

"I will get you out of here." She repeats, with passionate fervour in her eyes, and Roy doesn't bother arguing with her. When their time is up, she holds him in her arms tightly, and the guard looks ready to drag her away physically and if the bastard lays a hand on her Roy will deck him. It doesn't matter if he's twice Roy's size, and that he can get in serious trouble. It can't get any worse than this. To him, this is the end.

"Take care of yourself," She whispers and turns around and walks away and Roy has to fight himself pretty hard not to run after her and grab her hand and demand to be taken away from here.

* * *

Roy's been here for fifteen minutes, and he hasn't been raped, and that's kind of an accomplishment. But it won't last and he can feel the eyes crawling over his body. They can tell he's scared. Or they just have common sense, Roy doesn't know.

His hoodie, the red one he usually wears like armor has been stripped away from him, along with his jeans and he feels so naked it's painful. The uniform he's been handed is a tired, used shade of gray instead of the standard orange they always show on TV, and Roy tries to make himself look as unnoticeable as possible, hoping to delay the inevitable.

"We've got ourselves a princess." Is yelled helpfully when Roy is marched toward his cell, and there's no chance that the man yelling is addressing the burly number walking behind Roy, who is walking a little too close now that Roy thinks about it. The invasion of privacy stings but it's only going to get worse, so Roy fights the nausea that burns deep in his lower esophagus.

Twenty minutes.

"There's gonna be a fight in the prison yard tonight." The guard walking ahead mutters under his breath quietly but Roy hears it, despite the thundering of his too-quick heartbeat. His senses are uselessly sharp. Like a deer running from a predator runs faster than it ever has in its entire life, but eventually gets caught and then what good does that speed do?

Roy doesn't know much about prison hierarchy, but he understands that he needs to join a gang. When Birdy - the closest thing he's ever had to a childhood friend - heard that Roy's going in, he had advised him to join the strongest gang for protection. Or even start one. But Birdy was under the assumption that Roy was going to juvie. This is big boy prison, and the odds that Roy will be able to recruit any of these giant men to do anything but bend him over and ream his ass are anywhere from slim to no way.

They stop in front of a cell, and the guard gestures the guy right behind Roy to get in. Roy can't fight the intense feeling of relief, which washes over him in an awesome wave. One molester is safely behind cell bars – for now, but it doesn't mean there won't be others to take his place. As soon as the guy groping Roy for the past ten minutes is gone, another one takes his place and Roy feels nauseated again. The relief gone as soon as it came.

Even larger hands grab his ass and a rancid breath whispers something in his ear that Roy can't quite focus on: something along the lines of _pretty mouth, _and _sweet ass, _and _all night long._

"That's enough." The guard snaps at the offender and just like that, Roy has a few inches of personal space and he thanks whatever invisible deity is up there running the place.

"Get in dumbass." The guard, a powerful man with the most tired eyes Roy has ever seen, orders and Roy starts to walk into the cell. Loud whistles and catcalls greet him immediately.

"Not you." The guard says, in a tone which can be considered almost civilized compared to how he has been talking to the other new arrivals.

Roy immediately steps away from the leering men waiting inside, and disappointed groans fill the air.

"Come on, Diggle." The man on the bottom bunk _begs _the guard. "We'll let you have the first taste."

"I said get in, dumbass." The guard, Diggle, barks at the man behind Roy, and just like that, Roy's the only one left without a new home.

"Miss me." The felon whispers close to Roy's face, and no amount of heavy perfume could ever take away the memory of that man's breath.

"Come on." Diggle says blankly and Roy obeys. He has a feeling he will be very obedient from now on.

The jeers and uproar that Roy's presence creates don't get any better and by the time they have passed through the main area, Roy promises himself to apologize to any girl he has ever even _looked_ at with less than honorable intentions (which is all of them really, he isn't picky when it comes to the fairer sex).

Diggle wants to say something and Roy predicts it's going to be some useless advice along the lines of _think of Jesus when it's happening, _or, _the Lord will be your shepherd and guide you through this, _or the time-honored _don't drop the soap. _"You're in here for a long time, kiddo." The man says instead.

Roy stays uncharacteristically quiet at that. Any sarcastic retort he might have had dies before it can even formulate and make it to his mouth.

"Why'd they lock you in here?"

"Third offence." Roy answers.

"What'd you do?"

"Stabbed a guy."

"Let me guess, someone filthy rich." There's no question in Diggle's dry tone, just an understanding. "You don't end up in big boy jail at your age without ruffling some serious feathers."

At Roy's silence, the man continues. "Prison's a scary place for someone who looks like you. You need protection."

"Let me guess," Roy says dryly, "You are going to provide it as long as you get all the privileges."

"No sexual favors will be required of you," Diggle actually looks amused at Roy's words. "As long as you stick to him."

"You are _selling_ me?" Roy sounds incredulous. "Within the first hour of my arrival?"

Diggle laughs at that, an open, happy expression graces his face and he immediately looks at least fifteen years younger.

"I don't want to be some prison lord's bitch."

Diggle laughs harder at the kid's assertive tone. "You're in no position to make those kinds of demands. Either you go along with what I have to offer or…" Diggle doesn't bother finishing his sentence, just cocks his head in the general direction of a particularly heavy male, who's eyeing Roy like a dog would a prime rib.

"Promise me the prison lord isn't fatter and uglier than that guy and you have a deal." Roy grimaces at the leering gaze directed at him.

"Well," Diggle starts walking again. "He's definitely not fat."

* * *

Author's Note: Don't know where I'm going with this.


	2. Chapter 2

"There's a system in every prison." Diggle's gait is nothing like movie prison staff. There's no _swag _in his walk so to speak; just a weighted resignation. "This one's no different."

"Right," Roy parrots Birdy's earlier advice. "I need to join a gang."

"Don't mess with a gang unless you're willing to service all of them."

Roy feels mortification, raw in his cheeks, his stomach, everywhere.

Diggle either doesn't notice the feverish redness of Roy's cheeks, or doesn't mention it. "One person is more than enough for protection. Stick to him like a shadow. I repeat," The man waits until Roy can bring himself to make eye contact again. "Don't leave his side."

Roy nods once, and the message must have come across because Diggle's shoulders relax for a second. Roy has never been one for pleasing people, but a kernel of warmth ignites within him before he can thwart it. Diggle looks around, as if there aren't cameras constantly watching their every move, and leads him into a cell, which seems darker than the rest: nonsense. The entire prison has the same ambience.

"I know what you're going to say." Diggle talks into the darkness, to a slumped figure in the corner.

"No, you don't." A voice responds, and Roy squints into the darkness.

"If I give you preferential treatment…" Diggle crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"Then they will get rid of you." The man finishes Diggle's sentence.

"Not necessarily, but it may turn eyes on us, and we're suspicious enough as is."

"We have a guest." Is the guy's only response as he places a hand on the wall behind to pull himself up. "Another young offender, no doubt."

"Not quite."

"Stay in school." The words are so overused, and Roy has heard them so many times, it's impossible to stop the sarcastic sound his throat automatically makes. "Don't end up here." Another tired cliché but the guy sounds sincere, so Roy cuts him some slack.

"He's been sentenced for ten years." Diggle informs the shadow, and it's then the man probably notices the grey garb Roy is probably going to die in.

"He stabbed Senator Caraway's son."

Roy takes a subconscious step back as the man steps out of the shadows, into the hallway's dim glow. Oliver Queen's face isn't the glowing perfection it used to be in the tabloids a few years back, but the features are familiar, and Roy instantly feels annoyance ingrained deep into him. The Queen heir, well… former heir – the guy's mom publically disowned him, is what Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton would make if they were fused together and prescribed a half a litre of testosterone. "You've got to be kidding me." Roy turns to Diggle and fights the urge to kick the man in the nuts for even daring to suggest the trashy socialite in for murdering his father in a drunken rage can keep him safe.

"He's a minor." Oliver sounds somber.

"Who stabbed a senator's son. Aren't you listening, Oliver?"

"_He's _supposed to keep me safe, how?" Roy addresses Diggle again, who ignores him.

"There has to be something we can do."

"Laurel did everything she could." Diggle says, "You should have seen her, Oliver. Up against that army of lawyers all by herself."

"I'm sure she put up a hell of a fight. I'm sure she's doing everything she can to get him out of here."

"You know Laurel?" Roy asks Oliver.

"She is," Diggle confirms, "but until then, you need to keep him safe. I can't shadow him twenty-four seven."

Oliver looks as if considering his options, and Roy wants to stick his tongue out. He isn't desperate for the socialite's brain-dead company anyway, no matter now preferable it is over being gang-banged by some of the most hideous men in the history of mankind.

"_Look _at him, Oliver."

Both men turn towards Roy, and turn to each other again, and the look they give each other makes Roy scowl.

"Don't leave him alone."

"I won't."

"Your idea of protection is _Oliver Queen?_" Roy can't help but gasp out as Diggle starts to walks away. "Seriously? The shit stain?" The tabloids came up with that one, and Roy's merely repeating. It feels natural.

Diggle looks more annoyed at Roy's insult than Oliver and sighs out a frustrated "you're welcome, kid" before disappearing around the corner.

"What is your name?" Oliver clearly has an interrogation in mind.

"Princess!" Someone calls out loud and slow, before Roy has a chance to answer, and he feels his heart sink as if being pulled downwards by a trillion anchors.

Oliver's shifts on his feet, and there's an instant change. He's intimidating all of a sudden. Like a knight standing guard, and Roy his damsel and damn if that isn't insulting. Being the least masculine male in the room when Oliver my-latest-sex-tape-has-bisexual-action Queen stings like a motherfucker.

There has been obviously been an overall transformation in Queen. Once artfully arranged bangs have been replaced with a much more practical close crop. Now that Roy is giving the man a careful once over, he notices the biceps, each as big as Roy's thighs. The uniform he wears is identical to Roy's in every way save for the way he fills it out. Either he's been working out like a maniac, or is suffering from a serious case of roid rage and judging from how irritated, icy, piercing, blue eyes shine like shards of broken glass Roy believes it's the latter. There is no way someone like Oliver Queen has the discipline to grow those muscles naturally.

"Shit," the leader of the potentially rapist mob spits out when he sees the vision waiting for him. He was the mastermind behind locating Roy and even recruited a bunch of prisoners to join him in his search.

Time stands still as the men outside the cell appraise Queen's mood, and judging from their deflating postures, they don't like what they see.

Oliver's lips are grim. Maybe fear is playing tricks on Roy's mind, but Oliver's massive shoulders look even bigger all of a sudden and Roy takes another step back, both to hide behind Queen and afraid to be the target of such vehemence. His movement seems to break the dam and open the floodgates for time to begin flowing again.

"Queen."

"The kid's off limits."

"You can't keep him all to yourself." A much younger man, who is standing beside the leader with clearly false bravado because there ain't no way he is willing to take on Queen – being a third of his size. Roy suspects he's been servicing the men himself and wants to move up into the prison hierarchy.

"Says who?"

"You wouldn't even know what to do with him, Queen." The morbidly obese man who has been salivating at the sight of Roy since minute one says. The others give him confused looks. As if watching a man trying to reason with a wild animal and talk some sense into its feral mind. "Your girl's visiting you tomorrow, ain't she? You love you some pussy, don't you?"

"Back off."

"Give us the boy."

"Only if you can take him from me."

The gauntlet's been thrown. Roy dares to peek around Queen's shoulder if the mob picks it up.

"Come on, Queen." A guy - who seems as muscular as the ex-socialite but seemingly unwilling to accept the physical challenge - says, almost exasperated. "You can't keep those lips to yourself."

"I can't believe I have to say this twice," Queen takes a small step forward and the mob takes a big step back. "Back off. He's mine."

Roy's biggest fan gives him a dejected look, but ultimately backs off, and slowly the others follow his example. "The next one's ours." Is yelled at Queen. "This ain't no fucking harem."

Queen's shoulders stop heaving and Roy takes that to mean the rage has passed. With much hesitation, he awkwardly raises a hand and pats the muscular back and Christ that's some definition. Can steroids do that?

"Your name?"

"Roy Harper."

"Don't leave my side, Roy."

"Yes, that's been made very clear to me."

"Good." Oliver says and then blinks when he is punched in the arm.

Roy grimaces as he ends up causing more pain to himself than the ex-socialite's rock solid arm.

Oliver has the decency not to smirk knowingly at the boy as he holds his fist close to his chest protectively.

"I'm not yours."

"No you are not." Oliver agrees, "But let's keep that secret between the two of us." That said, he goes back to the dark corner he emerged from, and curls into himself again.

* * *

Author's Note: Still have no idea where I'm going with this.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why did you stab him?"

"He tried to rape me."

"That's the most ironic thing I have ever heard."

"That's what I was going for, irony."

"Aren't you going to ask why I killed my father?"

"I am sure you had your reasons."

"Why so sure? Maybe I did it for fun."

"Then that's your reason right there. Fun."

When Queen isn't working out or brooding, he likes to have little heart to hearts, Roy finds. They are as uncomfortable as Queen himself is, full of meaningful little messages that Roy misses most of the time.

"You should consider your options after prison."

"You mean medical school?" Roy jokes. He's a high school dropout.

"Maybe." Queen either doesn't get jokes, or has trained himself to ignore them completely. "If that's what you want."

"I'm sure I will make the perfect doctor."

"You're certainly intelligent enough."

_Because state penitentiary is where intelligent people end up. _"God you're dumb." Roy says exasperated. "Dumber than your sex tapes."

"You watched my sex tapes?"

Roy slinks back deeper into his dark corner to hide any traitorous bodily reactions his cheeks may exhibit. "I didn't say that." Roy loved the first one. Especially the part where the girl went down on Queen, her glossed lips slick on possibly the fattest, most perfect dick Roy's ever seen, even porn stars don't have dicks like Oliver Queen. The second one had way too much homo in it for Roy's comfort. Two girls and one guy, but still. "Are you going to make another one?"

"Do you want me to?"

"I didn't say that."

"I'm sure you didn't." How Queen can sound so amused with such a toneless voice is unbelievable. The third tape would be epic though, with the body Queen has now, he would rip the chick apart, perhaps as literally as much as figuratively.

"Do you have parents?" The interrogation continues.

"What do you think?"

"Siblings?"

"No."

"Where do you live?"

"With Oliver Queen."

Roy doesn't have to be able to see Queen to know he's supressing laughter. His breathing gives it away loud and clear. "I meant before prison."

"Around."

On people's couches. Nick Caraway had offered Roy a place to stay, and he had accepted, because Birdy's mom was starting to make faces and muttering things like 'freeloader' and 'leach' and 'parasite' and even the homeless have some pride. Roy had managed to avoid Nick's advances for about a month and a half. The motherfucker kept getting handsier and handsier, until it came to the point that he would try to walk in when Roy was showering and that's when he learned to lock the bathroom door. The stabbing came soon after and Nick ripped Roy apart in court, and painted a picture of ungratefulness and failure and compulsive liar Roy will never be able to shake off no matter how far and fast he runs.

"This isn't the end." Queen says and judging from his tone it's time for another lecture. "I promise you. You've hit rock bottom. It's only uphill from here."

In his infinite amount of spare time, Roy likes to consider his options when he gets out of here (hopefully on early parole based on good behavior) which range from fast food worker to prostitution and Queen's words are an infinite source of hilarity.

"You can be anything you want to be."

"If you're asking to be my pimp whenever it is you get released, the answer's no."

"It will never come to that."

Roy rolls his eyes at Queen's promise. "What's your plan buddy? You don't even have a trust fund anymore."

"I will be fine."

"If you're going to rob banks I want in. I can be your getaway driver."

"Can you drive?"

"I can once you teach me."

"It's feeding time." Queen uses the wall to push himself up again and that's the only time when Roy can tell something's a little off with the man. Every other move is graceful perfection. "Let's go."

"Whatever."

* * *

Roy scowls when Oliver grabs his waist with one giant hand and pulls him close to himself, and Oliver doesn't have to do it, other inmates know the consequences of messing with Oliver's property by now, but ruffling the kid's feathers is infinitely amusing, and it's basically the only entertainment Oliver allows himself.

"Not your trophy wife." The boy mumbles but doesn't protest. He's still scared and no matter how hard Oliver tries to instil the feeling of safety and protection the boy just can't seem to shake off the cloak of fear. Oliver can't really blame him. So young, trapped with animals through no fault of his own, and the stabbing doesn't count because the boy was surely defending himself.

Oliver knows Nick Caraway. Went to school with the asshole, and can count on one hand when someone dared to come forward and accuse the bastard of rape. His senator father always has enough strings to pull and the rapes which get reported get ignored. The rapes which don't only leave a body count and add to Starling City's rising suicide rate. Oliver promises himself to shoot an arrow straight through the rapist's heart the first chance he gets.

Oliver leads the boy outside their cell and stares down anyone who dares get close enough. Always putting his body between anyone who might brush by. The kid's tall, his growing body lean and slender in Oliver's grasp but he's frail and sickly with fear and Oliver worries his heart might stop within its ribcage.

Just one week in prison has messed with the boy's health, dark circles are prominent underneath steely blue eyes and eyelids decorated with some of the thickest lashes Oliver has ever since Laurel Lance herself are tinted an unhealthy starved pink. The boy's already lost weight. Still, the luminous blue eyes are full of life and for that Oliver thanks the extreme stubbornness inherent within the boy's very nature. It's the only thing which keeps the kid standing.

When they're in line for food, Oliver pulls Roy even closer, not even allowing the boy even a half inch of personal space. Body language is key communication in prison and Oliver communicates ownership through his every movement, nuzzling the boy's neck and placing soft kisses along that elegant jawline. The boy doesn't flinch like he used to, but that lean body seems to stiffen slightly and Oliver mentally apologizes but this is necessary and the only thing which keeps the animals away.

"Queen." Jackson from block 5 nods mockingly, and then turns to Roy, "Mrs. Queen." There are undignified guffaws at that and the entire line lights up with a private joke.

Other bitches give Roy envious looks which he absolutely misses in his mortification and turns toward Oliver, avoiding eye contact with the other inmates.

When they receive their food and are at their table, Oliver carefully looks through the crap, and makes sure there isn't any glass or god help them, metal hiding underneath the poor quality sustenance. Roy sighs impatiently as Oliver does his thing. "I'm starving over here."

Oliver carefully divides the food and keeps only the bare minimum for himself. The kid is growing and needs all the nutrition he can get, no matter how poor quality. He pushes the fuller plate toward Roy, who doesn't notice the extra content and starts shoveling food in his mouth with alarming speed. Oliver is convinced one of these days the kid is going to choke to death. "Calm down. It's not going anywhere."

The kid's a teenager, and his body's changing rapidly, demanding him to feed it more than most adult males would require. He can't help but rip through his food with desperation.

Oliver can't help himself and reaches out and ruffles the boy's hair fondly, and if his hand stays in thoroughly mussed hair for a little longer than necessary, Roy doesn't notice in his hunger.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sleep." Queen sternly orders when they get back to their cell. "Your body needs rest."

Roy glares when a traitorous yawn escapes his mouth, and destroys any hope of a counter-argument. Pouting, he climbs to the top bunk, where he usually resides.

"Not there." Is the only warning Roy gets before he's grabbed around the waist again and the brute throws him on the bottom bunk.

"If you wanted to switch, all you had to do is ask."

"The top bunk can't hold my weight."

Roy agrees. It can barely hold his. He can't believe he's been up there for a week without crashing on top of Queen, severely uncomfortable mattress and all.

"We're sharing from now on."

The younger of the two stands up, outraged. "The hell we are!" Roy doesn't actually think Queen will force himself on him, but if he does, it will be hell of a lot more preferable to anyone else. Not only is Queen the best looking guy in here, he will also be gentle and there is a good chance Roy _won't _need his ass stitched like that new kid in block 11 after the gang rape last week.

"There are no marks on you." Queen's voice is a harsh whisper and Roy takes a step back and damn people do that a lot around Queen. "Listen."

Roy frowns in confusion, and then at Queen's eyebrows shoot up meaningfully and suddenly the moans in the distance, and the slapping of skin on skin, the screaming becomes obvious and how his mind blocked it all out, Roy doesn't know.

"I'm supposed to be ripping you apart in here." Queen takes a step back himself, and then there's a quick blur of a movement, and Roy lets out a wounded howl as Queen's massive fist gets him in his thigh.

"Sorry," Queen catches Roy around the waist when he crumbles, and gently lowers him into the bottom bunk again.

"You asshole." Is all Roy can bring himself to mumble as Queen lowers his head, and starts sucking his neck.

Queen starts groaning and growling next. The bastard is an expert at making sex noises and has a career in porn waiting for him if he ever gets released. Roy blushes hotly as his skin is marked and Queen's howls build to a crescendo, and die off after his supposed climax.

* * *

"I hate you." Is muttered at Oliver, and he ignores the declaration itself and instead directs his attention to the pouting lips that made it.

Roy makes a surprised sound when Oliver kisses him forcefully, and clever hands actually push against his chest, but the boy isn't strong enough to push Oliver off. He bites at the pretty mouth until he draws blood, bruises it to give the boy the appearance of the cocksucker he's supposed to be, holding those wrists down until they're sure to be bearing his marks tomorrow.

Roy looks dazed when Oliver is done, and he doesn't have to go in for a second kiss but he does, this time slower and gentler because if he's the boy's first kiss, Oliver doesn't want to leave a bad memory in that young mind or at least make up for the one he already left in there.

Oliver looks into those steely eyes and basks in the glow of the boy's spirit, burning like a hot blue fire. It takes away some of the exhaustion to bask in its warmth.

The boy grumbles when Oliver pulls him closer, much closer, and even goes as far as to switch their positions until the boy's on his back and Oliver is a 200 and something pound blanket suffocating him. "You're crushing me. Get off." Roy complains, but Oliver can't bring himself to obey. He hasn't slept in a week, paranoid beyond belief now that he's accepted a charge. It's easier to calm his stormy mind when the boy's in his arms. If someone tries to get to Roy, the will have to get through Oliver's body and after a week of being so horribly awake, this arrangement is a gift.

* * *

When Roy limps by Oliver's side the next day, he's greeted with leering gazes, eyeing the marks on his neck, his bruised mouth, and his awkward gait with even more lust than usual.

"Damn, Queen." Jackson looks impressed.

"The honeymoon's over." Queen gives Roy a look of pure, concentrated lust, so full of hunger that Roy's body feels weak for a reason other than the fact that there was a muscled weight crushing him all night.

The other bitches don't give Roy envious looks no more. Clearly he's had to handle Queen at his worst, all that pent up aggression from the past few years of abstinence must have been released last night. Queen's usually the only person not participating in the gang rapes, clearly he couldn't control himself around the boy. It's the kid's damn fault for having a mouth like that.


	5. Chapter 5

"How long have you two been together?" Roy asks when Oliver comes back from visiting his girl and Diggle's done discussing some cryptic shit with him and walks away in an annoyed huff. Their conversations are secretive and coded, but Roy enjoys listening none-the-less. Diggle and Oliver fight like an old married couple, and their facial expressions when the other disagrees are hilarious.

There was another mob of prisoners hoping to get at Roy when Oliver finally got distracted by his woman, but Diggle had chased them all away. Roy has never been more thankful for his babysitters.

"Felicity…" Oliver looks amused at Roy's inquiry, "Is just a friend."

"With benefits?"

"She is certainly a very beneficial friend."

"Are you banging her?"

"No."

"I don't understand. Have you given up on sex altogether?"

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Oliver is like an overly-strict nanny at times and enforces regular rest on Roy. "What have I told you about skipping your naps?"

"I'm not four." Roy is careful not to pout. His lips sting from talking alone. Oliver's been overly brutal lately – his kisses super harsh - but the other prisoners have stopped looking at Roy as if he's waiting for a man to show him how fulfilling prison rape can be and for that Roy's infinitely thankful.

"You need discipline in your life."

"Am I really so wild that Oliver Queen, the party prince, wants to discipline me?"

"Rest." Oliver never responds to any jabs at his past life. Either he doesn't have any memories of being the male-equivalent of Lindsay Lohan, or he's blocked them out, and Roy can't blame the guy. "Your body needs it."

"You don't know what my body needs."

"I was a teenager once, Roy." Oliver says patiently as his strong arms push Roy down until his head is resting on the lumpy pillow. "Your body is working very hard to develop and that alone drains all your energy."

"I'm almost as tall as you."

"Still not fully-grown."

Roy hates how quickly drowsiness takes over his very being. He finds himself lulled to sleep by the sound of Oliver's movement as he does push ups.

* * *

The TV room is a very complicated place. Sitting in the wrong place could get you in some serious shit.

Oliver sits in the back of the room, with at least five feet of space to himself, and Roy is glad to share that space, because it is impenetrable. In the past six weeks that Roy has been here, no one even dares to breathe in Oliver's direction and by extension Roy.

The inmates watch the news together. It seems to be an unspoken agreement between everyone that keeping up with the outside events is key.

Oliver is the handsiest in here. When those giant hands roam his body, making him shift on Oliver's thighs, the bastard whispers embarrassing things like "If you don't calm down, I will spank you, but that's not much punishment is it? You love it when I do that."

Roy is certain that one of these days, his breathing will stop as an automatic response to the ridiculous things Oliver says to him.

"Don't suck on that bottom lip or I'll insert something else in there." And by god does that provide an endless source of entertainment for the animals who have been offering Oliver all kinds of things in exchange for a good show.

Donnelly, possibly the sleaziest of the sleaziest, had offered Queen services from his own bitch. "My boy is yours for night, motherfucker take him for the week. Just give us somethin' to look at."

Roy could have sworn Donnelly's bitch looked excited at the prospect of being with Queen, and Roy doesn't blame him. Queen's a decent-looking guy in any room, but in this room he's a god, with chiseled features and his muscles almost ripping through the prison-issued material. Compared to Donnelly, the ugliest person ever born, Queen's Adonis himself.

"Hmm," Queen made of show of thinking, Donnelly's bitch looks so hopeful, Roy wants to cry for him a little. "That used ass? No thanks." and it's true, Donnelly has passed his boy around the entire prison for anything from cigarettes to those lunch sandwiches which taste like drywall.

"Then take mine." Rozenweig, a well-muscled beast, possibly the only person in here who doesn't flinch terribly at the sight of Queen, offers him his boy. A much less used, fair-skinned number, in fact, now that Roy thinks about it, he's never seen anyone but Rozenweig ream his bitch.

"That thing," Queen makes a disgusted face at the boy being offered – a sad creature who looks even younger and unhealthier than Roy, "when I have _this _every night?" Roy moans in surprise when his torso is caressed and then his groin is cupped non-gently.

"We just want to watch."

"It's only fair man, you got the tastiest meat all to yo'self. Let us see what you do to him."

"I bet he screams pretty." Roy's number one fan says dreamily, and Roy flinches in Oliver's embrace.

"He does, for _me." _Oliver sing-songs and the animals grumble and turn toward the TV again. Roy sags back in Oliver's arms, relieved.

"Don't get too attached." Rozenweig advices Oliver before he goes and sits down in his corner with his boy who immediately pulls out the man's cock and starts servicing him as he watches the news.

Oliver's only response to the advice is an extreme tightening of his arm around Roy.

"Oliver," Roy begs softly, because if the man doesn't ease up, surely he will fracture a few ribs. And Roy's had rib fractures before. They are painful as all fuck. It's not an experience he wants to repeat.

Oliver stares blankly at the new segment about the hood, who has succeeded in stopping yet _another_ drug cartel. Roy recognizes the man on screen as Laurel's dad. The man is giving another statement against the Hood. "He's dangerous. If you see him, do not engage, call 911."

Half the people in here are because of the Hood. The vigilante is naturally not very popular around here. Roy personally thinks the Hood is a hero for putting these animals behind bars and _away _from civilians, but he will keep his opinions to himself.

"Please," Roy whispers again, tugging uselessly at the heavily muscled arm, and Oliver eases his grip with an apology and a soft, surely subconscious, kiss against his neck which makes Roy frown.


End file.
